


To Hunt the Heart

by Coldest_Fire



Series: Modern Twelfth Night [1]
Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: "If music be the food of love..." monologue but in modern context, Act one scene1, Evanescence, F/M, Gratuitious descriptions of music, Guys the author has seen this band live so like, Lowkey Emo Orsino, Orsino will listen only to music he can cry to, Orsino's descriptions are extra just because he is Like That, Probably will have a continuation, Tired but still supportive ish Valentine and Curio, the start of my full modern au twelfth night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldest_Fire/pseuds/Coldest_Fire
Summary: Modern Twelfth Night, Act 1,Scene 1Violin swelled and crescendoed as a soft, impassioned soprano sang every word of his truth. He listened to her love and sorrow, the music fading into nothing for the last line of the chorus, a fervent confession, lost in love and dedication.“Music,” Orsino mused,  “lends a voice that speaks in the inimitable language of love."





	To Hunt the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone. Don't know if this play actually has a fandom, or anything, but I wrote this while attempting to study for a final on the works of Shakespeare (or in this case Richard iii, Twelfth Night and the Tempest). Orsino always struck me as the kind of dork that cries at concerts (shhhhh...I'm projecting over here!) and so this spawned as my interpretation of how Extra he is in a modern au, just listening to music. Don't know how to adapt the rest (like why does Viola pose as a man?) for the rest of this AU, but I'll think of something as it continues. 
> 
> Playlist for this short piece includes: My Heart is Broken (synthesis version) by Evanescence in the start (repeated lord only knows how many times), Your Star, also off the Synthesis album by Evanescence, and then the demo version of Hello by Evanescence. The songs are (briefly) directly quoted in italics. We'll see more different bands from Orsino as I write more about him.

Violin swelled and crescendoed as a soft, impassioned soprano sang every word of his truth. He listened to her love and sorrow, the music fading into nothing for the last line of the chorus, a fervent confession, lost in love and dedication. By the second chorus, she was so strong, as though her passion, her love filled her voice, allowed her the strength he wished he could be imbibed with. The bridge hit a high note that was ecstasy, pouring over him, and subsiding into something gentle, piano he thought. He could picture her as she sang the end of the song, every pang of love he’d ever felt echoing in her voice, as she started so soft he thought they’d both shatter, only to rise up once more, one more crescendo. She would not give in silently.

“Music,” Orsino mused, “lends a voice that speaks in the inimitable language of love. If only it were as satisfying to sing of it as to feel it, so you could just sate the desires of the heart here with her voice. She’d do us all an immeasurable kindness if this need could be filled in listening.” The next song started, an almost mechanic sounding beat signifying the start of it. He wasn’t quite ready for the End of the Dream. “Curio! The last one again, please. It’s like a delicate breeze, bowing the breaths of her sighs of love straight to my ear. It’s like breathing in a breath of understanding, that tastes like-”

“Yes, my lord,” Curio interrupted, getting up off the plush velvet couch he lay on, across from Orsino and changing the song back on the speakers. The violins wept in lush, low notes from the speaker, as her voice returned, so vulnerable now, singing about a pain Orsino understood from the depths of his heart, beating so fiercely though it was shattered. His eyes closed, and he pictured her, the way she held the microphone, her own eyes closing the slightest bit, stage lights and torment reflected there in her eyes, ending the first verse earnestly. She never hid her soul from those that knew how to listen to her lyrics. Not through the power she found for the chorus or for the way her voice grew so fragile by the end, just as agonized as the two of them were with love and loss. He gave a soft groan as she hit that high note again, engulfing the room. He lost himself to it, though not like the last time. The last time he could taste the high note, like pure white light, streaming down. He waited out the instrumental, for her to find her voice again, that they might both confess what it is that afflicted them. 

_My heart is broken._

It was near enough to bring him to tears, her pleas for deliverance from this sorrow, at least for the next few times, though the ache in his chest dulled with each repeat, until he opened his eyes, the dim light of the room striking him. “That’s enough. It’s not so sweet and so painful as it was the first time,” he sighed, “love is so fluid and powerful a force, ebbing and flowing, coming and going with the moon and the tide, and the dynamics. Encompassing as it sweeps you out to sea, places you’ve never been. It is found only as it is lost, and so lovers find themselves always seeking something and yet never knowing its form. Its the most familiar, and the most fantastical and…”

“Orsino, can we go hunting?” Curio interrupted again, stopping the next song and the conversation abruptly. “I think some fresh air might really help.” He wonders if the duke had gotten any fresh air over the last few days since the album released, and prayed none of his other musical interests would release anything for some time. He got insufferable when he had new material.

“And what would we hunt?” Orsino asked, dejectedly. Before Curio could speak, he got up, smoothing the concert shirt he fell hadn’t yet changed out of this morning. He scrolled through the track list, debating if he felt like staying on Synthesis. He’d always thought Taking Over Me should have been on it, or an orchestral version of Understanding, but not either of the shortened versions. The eight minute version, complete with all the voiceovers. Eventually, he decided on a song, before realizing that he hadn’t even heard Curio. “What did you say?” He asked, trying not to focus on the high minor piano interlude that crept down his spine before her voice reached his ears. 

“The hart.”

And there her voice was, so strong, coming in from nothing, and vanishing back into nothing as the line ended. The desperate pleas superimposed over gentle minor chords, played on his heartstrings. “The heart?” He asked, as her pitch rose and fell mournfully behind him. “Cruio, my friend, that is what I do here. You don’t understand this feeling I have when I think of her. When she’s in the room, it’s like another world, like being completely alive. No one could ever sicken, or suffer or die. And then she leaves and I’m quite stricken buy this love she leaves me with. It’s like I’m reduced to my heart, a heart pursued by my own desires that haunt me…” 

Curio took a deep breath, reminding himself that Orsion, for all of his antics was paying him to stand here and humour him. Wondering if there was anything to say that would persuade him to leave the house, he lapsed into silence. Orsino’s attention shifted back to the singer belting out her verse, her notes cascading over him like the sweetest silk of his own sufferings. And just as he was about to fully lose himself to her sorrows once more, Valentine entered, squinting to see them in the dark room. His eyes landed on Orsino, still in sweatpants and a too-large concert shirt for a band Valentine was sure he’d misquoted at Olivia at his lord’s request. “Valentine!” Orsino exclaimed, trying to finger comb his messy brown hair into submission, to be the slightest bit presentable. “What did she say?”

He paused the music to hear him, and Curio sighed in relief. The man was getting very tired of listening to the same song nine times in a row and hearing Orsino tell him all about how every lyric ‘epitomized his very agony.’ Valentine shrugged, “Well, I couldn’t get in. Again.” When Orsino’s face fell, he added hastily “But at least it wasn’t Malvolio at the door this time. Her maid was…unimpressed at the timing. Olivia’s brother just died, and she’s really upset. She’s telling Maria that she’s never leaving her house again, though Maria is also saying it’ll only be another like, seven? years. She’s just going to stay home and mourn, and cry over her brother. She just wants there to be someone alive that remembers him. Also, Maria said the mixtape is probably inopportune, but she’ll give it to her anyway.” 

Orsino shook his head. “That one was for the love she torments me with. Her grieving heart needs another one. I’ll make it up tonight, after that meeting.” He paused, about to leave the room, but unable to resist saying a little more. “Do you realize what this means?” He asked them, “it means her heart is so true, so gentle and kind that she loves a brother with such devotion. How is she to love again when she is so alone in this world, a heart so fragile for its grief that cupid’s arrow might break it past repair? But on the other hand, such a passion, such a love and a loss it is that she feels, that she just needs someone to love to dispel such a debilitating emptiness.” He rose, pulling on a blazer, and giving a twirl around the living room. “Let’s all go out to the garden, and feel the sun on our faces-” he ignored Curio’s relieved sigh, “that feels so like the warmth my love will bring to her eternal winter, secluded away there.”

As Orsino skipped of of the room, Valentine and Curio shared a long-suffering look, before Curio gave a slight snicker. “Did Orsino just rip off the plot of Frozen in his latest monologue?”

Valentine cracked a smile, “Don’t tell him that. If he has me quoting Let It Go to Lady Olivia, right after her brother’s death, I might need to find a new job.” 

The two laughed as Orsino opened the front door, standing on the balcony and feeling the light pouring over his face, one ear listening to the birds chirping merrily, while the other had a headphone in, playing through another song to see if this would work for his newest playlist for Olivia. “Suddenly, I know I’m not sleeping. Hello? I’m still here, all that left of yesterday…” and as another beautiful, clear high note tapered off, he decided he had everything he needed to comfort the girl of his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> So thank you all for reading this particularly indulgent piece of fic. My sincere apologies to anyone who thought Orsino was less of a Mess than this. I'd love any feedback you have. My Tumblr is @chameleons-and-tea if anyone wants to chat there, as well.


End file.
